Tinsel

 Tinsel

I was 4 years old that Christmas 1969. I don’t remember much else, but I remember the Christmas tree. This is one of the first memories I have of this life and although it isn’t as clear an experience as most from later on, it stands out for me as my first real Christmas, at least that I can remember. I do not recall even one toy that I was given. I cannot see anyone, no parents and no siblings, not even the dog. I do not remember anyone waking me or taking me to the scene. I do not even remember what happened next, as the rest of the day is lost to me. Boy, do I recall that tree. It was massive to me. It was covered with ornaments and pretty lights and peppermint candy canes for as far as the eye could see. The Angel Hair tinsel (the shredded kind) that was so popular in the 1960s and 1970s, covered the beast from head to toe. I just stood with my mouth wide open. I didn’t even notice all the presents underneath the tree. I’m not sure I even knew what a present was let alone anything that sat on the floor before me. In my mind, if I blink, I might just miss it. It may come in flashes, but it takes me to that moment, without fail, every time.

I have very intact memories of every Christmas I have known since circa 1972. They are strong and chiseled into my very being. Christmas has always been that for me. I have always cherished the entire Yuletide season, even when I was an 11-year-old blond lad surviving in Southern Ontario, Canada (circa 1976). While I have a strong and distinct recall, sometimes it’s the little things that end up standing out more than any grandeur or great display. Sometimes it is about the simplest moment. I can see her wrapped for warm, she seemed immune to the weather. She trudged and we followed. I often find her here, as winter approaches and Christmas does too. My Mom facing the snow and wind is perhaps the most intimate memory that I have of my mother. My entire adult life and I still see her, I can still feel her, if only for a second or two. It wasn’t the heavy snow or roadside struggle that cemented my experience. This was the first time that I saw my Mom as a person rather than as just a parent. Her humanity thrilled me.    

The 1980s brought more tinsel, more presents and many memories of Christmas with my family and friends. I was a lonely soul, challenged with Bipolar Disorder and desperately searching for something of which I wasn’t quite sure. Doug rescued me, if only for a moment’s time. I cannot express just how deeply I loved him. In a sense, I still do. I am lucky to have so many memories with him. For an instant, we were a flame together. It wasn’t a slow burn. Out, out brief candle. I can somehow feel it flicker, a warmth despite the dead cold. I remember our first Christmas. We exchanged gifts before we each headed home to our family. Christmas Eve morn was anti-climactic despite the tradition. I couldn’t bear for him to go. I lost my breath when I considered him not coming back to me. For the entire time I knew him, I never got to spend Christmas day with him. Regardless, he always managed to come home to me, that is, until he didn’t.

I woke up bewildered. Between the pain meds and Doug missing, Christmas morning 1995 would be a struggle, regardless of the season. I planned on faking my way through it just like everything else since he went away. I recall lying in bed, empty, tearful and disinterested in anything but going back to sleep. Mom called down the stairs for me a few times, eventually wandering into the basement and knocking on my door. I made my way up to the main floor. There it was before me, in spite of everything that had happened. Like every Christmas, Mom went overboard especially with the tinsel. The room was wonderful and vibrant and a crowded house. I could not ignore it even though I tried. Something of promise happened while I sat there on that floor. For a moment of time I forgot, just for a second. I found myself laughing for the first time since he died. I found just a little joy. My Mom and my Dad did what they always did for me. They showed me hope, they showed me mercy. They showed me what Christmas is all about. 

We had to borrow a pick-up truck. Ben’s father conveniently had one to share. For all it did not offer, Christmas 2003 granted us, if nothing more, a real Christmas tree. We discovered an actual Christmas Tree farm just outside of where we lived in Brantford, Ontario. Mount Pleasant is a small little nook; blink and you will miss it. Past a few farmhouses, off into the unknown, Mount Pleasant Christmas Trees lived up to their promise. I got down on all fours, Ben secured it, and I murdered the poor thing in less than 5 minutes. Ben and I carried the creature back to the pick-up and tossed it in the truck bed. This was not the first real tree we had slaughtered together. It had been a few years since we moved in with each other and every year, to that point, had garnered a real Christmas tree. We secured it to the cab with heavy rope and paid at the gate upon exit. Our destination took us straight through the heart of Mount Pleasant then instantly into the countryside. I finally was able to speed up once we were away from the place. It happened in one second, it did not require more. Our beautiful Christmas tree was placed erroneously in the back of that flatbed Ford. Once I increased the gas, the wind did the rest. It caught the branches so completely that the thing flipped over and off the truck. The ten-footer blocked the entire one side of the roadway. I pulled over and Ben and I re-secured the tree the correct way and then made our way back home. The tree was slightly bruised but not broken. It still had lovely branches.

Christmas 2010 was a mere 8 months after the passing of my mother. Although Doug’s death taught me how to deal with my grief, when my Mom died the entire world changed once again. To this day, my heart is broken. To this day, Christmas has never been the same. It suffers along with the rest of us. I spent most of my adult life watching over my mother. Sometimes it seems she was more my friend than my parent. At times, I can still get lost without her. My father became my priority. His deep grief only helped secure our relationship. I always got along my Dad but, to be honest, my relationship with my mother overshadowed anyone and everything. It seemed fitting that I wasn’t with him that first Christmas morning without her. He told me later in the day that he would have rather spent the day in bed. He tried his best and he began to carry on regardless. I spent most of that Christmas day bawling my eyes out. Almost anything connected with my Mom activated the deep sense of loss within me. I still feel this way every Christmas morning, but the manifestation of my grief has become much more controlled with time. When Doug died, I felt like nothing could ever match my pain.  Mom’s death proved me wrong.  

I made a conscious decision that I would never again spend Christmas morning at my parents’ home. I wanted my last Christmas memory of my mother to stand intact not scattered with other memories or some other time we spent the yuletide together. It seems there is always more room in a broken heart. When I discussed my decision with my Dad, he completely understood. He loved my Mom more than anything and the gaping hole left in his person was more than enough proof. When I asked him about his first Christmas without her, told me he felt like he had stepped into a puddle not knowing that quicksand was beneath it. I spent the 12 years after Mom’s death watching over my Dad. Often, he seemed more friend than parent. I saw him almost every Christmas but never in the morn. We both agreed, year after year, season after season, that Christmas was not Christmas without Mom, no matter the amount of time that passes.

 About an hour before his death in late November 2022, my Dad indicted that he no longer wished to remain. I had told him it was okay for him to go, and he responded, out of nowhere, acknowledging he knew exactly what I meant. This split second, this moment’s time, haunts me in a sense. It is one of the most powerful experiences of my lifetime. Sometimes, it is all I can see regarding my father. Considering he is dead at least he got to go to where he wanted. He was gone within the hour. Barely a month had passed, and I found myself sitting underneath the Christmas tree. Ben and Fritz gathered with me, and we tried to make the most of the sad situation. As I went through the first Christmas without both parents, I like to think they spent that Christmas morning together.  

It started more than a year before but eventually time took away his strength and  his resolve. He seemed stricken when the end approached. Having turned 19 years old just a few weeks before, the change was sudden and overwhelming to say the least. Mr. Fritz was such a good boy so having to put him down in the same month as my father’s death was maddening and far too close to home. It was such a peaceful transition, and my little boy was so dignified and classy right up to the end. We said our goodbyes, and we went on without him. The last thing on my mind was Christmas. I had to decide if I really wanted to continue with it. I thought about the promise I made to my parent’s that “no matter what” I would always keep Christmas. I tried to focus on the right thing to do for me, and my partner, and one very dead, Mr. Fritz. Life would go on without him, and it honored him keeping Christmas alive. Honestly, I would rather have kept it all away and not think about it, but I was bound by those promises made. Inevitably, Mr. Fritz was doomed to go just like the rest of us but that doesn’t mean he has to leave, he is right here with us. He will always be part of any Christmas as he dangles in memory like the rest. It was difficult losing our perfection but there is solace in the idea of him in a better place and regardless, he is at peace.

I strongly believe that there is no justice but there is always mercy. Mere days after the death of Fritz, I came across a cat family online. Momma and her two kittens needed rescued; you could tell. The three touched my heart instantly, particularly one kitten who appeared to want out of his cage so badly. This Christmas may not have our “big, good boy”, but it will have Maggie and Molly and Murphy, who is no longer begging for freedom. I didn’t have a clue what to do about the Christmas tree, so I put it up anyway. With pets there would be no form of tinsel, those days are said and done.

The tree goes up around American Thanksgiving, By that time, I already have most of the house decorated. The tree is the final accessory. With well over 1000 ornaments, an angel, lights, candy canes and a tree skirt, it takes days to set the tree up. Every year, without fail, I would hang Doug’s ornament first and then my mother’s. I try to group them separately on the tree. In 2022, I added my father to the pantheon.. Captured in gold and glass and glitter our boys, Fritz and Shadow, are together once again.

Tinsel went out of fashion in the 1990s. No one really uses it anymore. I’m sure the fact that they no longer distribute it for sale may contribute to this boycott. Occasionally, during the Christmas season, while shopping, I will see a pack for sale amongst the yuletide glamour. There is still stuff sticking out of a hole in the front the package so you can see what colour and size it is. I never buy it regardless of the cats. I find it charming but only in memory.

Change continues to divide and conquer. Considering the state with my paternal “family”, I will probably never return to Christmas in the house that helped build me. I’m more than okay with that. Christmas is where I am not where I used to be. You see, I don’t need a place; I have moments.